


acqua di gio

by cabriesun



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Fluff, M/M, Shiro is a cop, Underage Drinking, Wedding, Weddings, i think that, is all you need, wedding crashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 07:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17076065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cabriesun/pseuds/cabriesun
Summary: “So I should have probably asked you this earlier,” he starts, “but how old are you, Takeshi?”“It’s Takashi,” Shiro corrects his butchered pronunciation with a laugh, “and I’m twenty-one.”“A twenty-one-year-old cop? That’s pretty hot.”He doesn’t mean to be so candid, but everything’s just flowing out now. The floodgates are nowhere to be found.“You’re not bad yourself; what was it, eighteen year old alcoholic?”“Funny,” Lance sticks his tongue out.





	acqua di gio

**Author's Note:**

> to continue the series, here is my teou _shance_ fic. i hope y'all enjoy! this is the one i like better, ngl...

“Lance, I swear to  _ God _ —”

“What, Kogane?” Lance spits, turning to glare at Keith. He tries not to sound mean, but sometimes this boy just  _ irks  _ him.

“I-If we get caught, I’m gonna kill you.”

“Wait wait wait, hold up.”

Lance halts in his tracks, stopping both Keith and Pidge as they journey down the steep hill leading to their destination.

“Do you wanna go  _ back? _ ”

“Lance, we’re gonna get in a  _ lot _ of trouble if we get caught,” Pidge reminds him, “this looks like a  _ private  _ wedding.”

“All weddings are private, Pidge.” Lance rolls his eyes, Converse high tops sliding down the steep hill, “Plus, you can say you crashed a wedding if we pull this off!”

“I’m sure I’ll have plenty of people to talk to when I’m in a jail cell for trespassing!” Pidge exclaims, feigning her enthusiasm, surely. Once more, Lance’s eyes travel to the back of his head. His ‘friends’ are being ridiculous, per usual. But if he had to sit in that dinner party for one more minute, he was going to lose his fucking mind. And Lance has made it a habit to never indulge in mischief alone. So here he is, with the two worst people to carry out shenanigans with. 

Pidge and Keith aren’t his friends; they’re his parents’ friends’ kids. If Hunk and Allura were here, they’d be his go tos for this mission, without a doubt. But those two were out; on a  _ date _ .

Lance is at that stage in his life where everyone around him is settling (minus Keith and Pidge, but those two might tie their own knot eventually). Does he feel left out?  _ Maybe _ , but he’s not going say anything about it. He’s eighteen, and he’s still got a life to live. He doesn’t need a boyfriend. If he finds one though, he isn’t complaining.

The hoopla of the wedding brings his attention back to the present day, grinning evilly as he stops his shoes from sliding down the hill. They’ve arrived, and with time to spare. It seems that the reception has just begun. He spots two brides, laughing as they twirl in each other's arms. Lance beams, overjoyed that the wedding they’re crashing is a gay one. 

“Come on!” He motions for the stragglers to follow him, slipping past one of the white pillars and disappearing from their line of view. 

Lance prowls past the wedding guests laughing and toasting with pink champagne. 

Like any other eighteen-year-old, the first spectacle to catch his interest is the alcohol at his three o’clock. Forbidden fruit for anyone his age. 

Lance isn’t known for abiding by limits.

Mischief on his mind, he starts tracking the bottle of pink champagne that circles the room. Tequila, vodka, and various other alcohols have entered his body and harmed his liver before, but there’s a layer of curiosity that surrounds this bottle. Another notch in his belt.

The venue smells of fresh flowers and pure, unhindered joy. Lance can’t truly describe the scent of  _ joy _ , but he loves the vibe he’s getting from the wedding. Young adults scattered about the dancefloor, champagne glasses in hand, laugher reverberating about the place… it’s relaxing. Lance feels his muscles fall slack, his mind already slowing down to appreciate the moment. He hasn’t even gotten his hands on the alcohol yet.

Pidge and Keith’s whereabouts are an issue of the past. They’re slow and scared, and he’s got places to be.

His feet whisk him to where he knows he wants to be. With dexterous hands and his notoriety for clean getaways, he manages to snatch himself a tall glass of pink champagne. The liquid bubbles in the narrow goblet, practically  _ begging  _ to be consumed by the young man. Sporting a devilish grin, he leans against the white counter of the bar behind him, tipping the chilled glass against his lips and savoring the tangy, yet sweet, sensation.

“ _ Ooh _ ,” he shudders with excitement, chills shooting down his veins. The rush of drinking, let alone drinking  _ illegally _ reminds him of the late night high school parties, shenanigans with his friends that ended with them in worlds of trouble. Here, he got a sense of what he claimed as his own little slice of joy, with just a slight change in setting.

Fuzziness lingers in his core long afterward, and Lance is looking for more. He wants cute boys, seemingly endless dance anthems,  _ more  _ alcohol—

An uptempo song blares out of the speakers, guests fleeing from their seats, and the bar, and flocking to the dance floor. The lights dim, whoops and cheers filling limitless space.

Lance’s shoulders bounce to the thump of the bass, the toes of his Converse the following suit. A young waitress passes by him, the tray in her hand crowded with glasses of the same pink champagne that had blessed his taste buds a little while ago.

“Oh oh,” he stops her with a bold wave of his hand, “I’ll take two of these off your hands, gorgeous.”

Even with minimal light, he can see the way she perks up, and the darkening of her cheeks as she rushes to attend to other guests. Lance simpers, fully aware of his way with words. He toasts to himself before tipping the glass against his lips and shuddering at the second round of cold liquor rushing down his throat.

Then, a third.

Then, Keith and Pidge.

Wait.  _ Keith and Pidge? _

He watches as his companions stalk over to where he’s seated, nothing but regret and anger sketched on their faces.  _ Oh god _ . Those are the faces of people that one, are furious with him, and two, have been caught.

_ How did that happen so fast?! _

Lance, with three full glasses of champagne swimming in his system, attempts to sit up properly as the security guard escorting his friends narrows his eyes at the Cuban boy next.

_ This should be good _ .

“I hope you’re enjoying your night, young man.” The guard is visibly, and vocally upset as he approaches Lance. He’s on the heavier side, belt wrapped about his waist hanging low. But despite any physical appearance, his stone glare is all he needs to keep his culprits eyes on his, instead of anywhere else on his body.

_ Shit _ , he worries,  _ they might have actually screwed the pooch _ .

Though the moment he takes a good look at Keith and Pidge’s faces, nerves muddled with fury, he makes a note that  _ they _ didn’t screw the pooch.  _ He _ did.

“Well officer,” Lance prepares the best he can to talk his way out of this one, “my friends—who you already seem to have acquainted yourself with—came out to have a good time at this wedding, just like everyone else! Isn’t it beautiful? The joining of two beautiful, lesbian souls—”

“What’s your name, sir?”

Lance feigns a gasp, clutching his heart and jumping down from the barstool. Upon impact with the ground, he stumbles before standing upright and continuing with his outburst. The look of annoyance on Keith’s face is more than visible. Lance can practically hear his voice in his head:  _ Why the hell did you get drunk at a wedding you were never invited to? Why are you so fucking stupid— _ blah blah, bullshit.

“How  _ dare  _ you ask me to reveal something so personal! My name? My name is my  _ everything! _ The very base of my existence is based on the name my mother and father gave me! To give you that, would be to reveal a sensitive, fragile, untouched part of myself that I’m just not comfortable sharing!”

“Sir—”

“So  _ no _ , you cannot have my name!”

“Okay, either you give me your name, or I’m calling the police.”

_ Fuck _ .

“Okay dude hold on.  _ Wait _ .”

Lance eyes Keith and Pidge, who now have wide eyes that only spell out pure mortification. He habitually forgets how soft those two are. They’ve never had to run from cops, talk their way out of shitty situations. This drives him to get a handle on the guard before things escalate to the point of no return.

“Let’s not take it to those lengths—”

“They’re with me.”

Lance turns abruptly at the deep voice that had suddenly appeared to defend them. Though they’re at the pinnacle of their endeavor, the mischievous teen is still equipped with a bold response for the man that had spoken. A stupid tactic, yes, but as soon as Lance gets a good look at their savior, any sass left in him dies instantly.

Stoic, stormy grey eyes paired with a body that resembles Adonis’s halts every movement and every word that could have left Lance’s lips. His eyes shift up to the ridiculously sexy head of hair the man is sporting, long dark locks with a blinding white stripe down the middle, all tied up in a messy man-bun that Lance  _ never  _ thought he would find attractive until now. 

“They’re my guests, it’s alright.”

“But Mr. Shirogane, they--”

“Don’t worry about it, officer,” ‘Shirogane’, grins down at the man dressed in uniform, patting his shoulder kindly, “they’re just a little out of hand. You have much more important security measures to be attending to.”

The guard hesitates, before tossing the situation aside with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Alright,” he takes a moment to glare at the guilty trio, “whatever you say, sir.”

He stalks away, hand firm on his holster as if it’ll boost his ego if they’re aware he has a firearm. Because firearms  _ certainly  _ equal power. Sure. Lance snorts, rolling his eyes and turning back to the present issue: the gorgeous man standing before him.

“That was quite a monologue,” he hums, “who knew so much could be said about someone’s name?”

“Thanks…but uh…so, you know we’re not ‘with you’ with you, right?” He asks, wanting clarification despite being starstruck.

“Well,” the handsome stranger holds his arm out, “you’re with me now.”

Lance blinks, looking up at him, then glancing back down at his outstretched arm. He looks back at Pidge and Keith, who already have their arms linked, prepared to walk away.  _ Wow _ , they’re so ready to leave him. Lance weighs his options; he could leave, go back to the event and not spend the night with a gorgeous stranger. Or he  _ could  _ spend the night with a gorgeous stranger, and  _ not  _ go back to his mother’s boring ass event. He’s also extremely tipsy, so it’s probably a better idea to stay here.

“I guess I’m with you then, stud.” He grins, “But I  _ am  _ a little off my rocker, with that pink champagne and all. By the way? It’s  _ really  _ good.”

“I’m not even gonna ask if you’re legal,” the stranger sighs.

“I’m eighteen!”

“You’re lucky I’m not on duty, then.”

“Duty?”

Though slightly intoxicated, Lance connects the dots. He flips his head up, meeting grey eyes that sparkle with wicked intentions.

“ _ Fuck _ . You’re a cop, aren’t you?”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” his tone is gentle, easing Lance’s fears, “an eye for an eye. If you don’t tell, I won’t tell.”

His smile more than likely captures the pure essence of relief when Shiro says that. In an instant, he’s down to his natural coyness. 

“Deal,” Lance grins, leaning against his arm, “but don’t get me wrong, I’m gonna remember everything tomorrow. So don’t you  _ dare  _ go back on your word, mysterious stranger.”

“My name is Takashi, but ‘mysterious stranger’ or ‘Shiro’ works, too.”

Lance’s heart jolts in its loose cage. A name that suits someone is probably the sexiest quality of them all.

“Right, right. Shiro it is.”

Lance learns shortly after, that if Shiro hadn’t approached him at the wedding, he was going to make sure he was arrested for trespassing and hit on him  _ then _ . Ten minutes were wasted telling Shiro he’s the worst at flirting, and ten more minutes were wasted on Lance trying to show him how to  _ really  _ flirt. He’d lost track of Pidge and Keith, his attention one hundred percent on Takashi, his rosy lips and his melodic laugh.

There was certainly time for them to dance, the other wedding guests paying them no attention as Lance went to town with Shiro. More importantly, the teen felt elated while with the man he’d met. A comfortable warmth in his chest bloomed with every minute filled with his presence, slowly forgetting about all the other circumstances surrounding the night. His mother’s event, his friends (yeah whatever, they can be friends), and whatever else he had to think about tonight.

The alcohol probably plays a part as well, but he doesn’t remember having much. He’s just tipsy; he  _ thinks _ .

As the wedding dies down, Lance wishes his best to the happy couple. Too enamored in their newly-wed hype, they barely acknowledge the fact that Lance was never on their guest list. Shiro, a little tipsy himself, leads them to the bar, where the younger seats himself on one of the stools, spinning aimlessly.

“So I should have probably asked you this earlier,” he starts, “but how old  _ are  _ you, Takeshi?”

“It’s  _ Takashi _ ,” Shiro corrects his butchered pronunciation with a laugh, “and I’m twenty-one.”

“A twenty-one-year-old cop? That’s pretty hot.”

He doesn’t mean to be so candid, but everything’s just flowing out now. The floodgates are nowhere to be found.

“You’re not bad yourself; what was it, eighteen-year-old alcoholic?”

“Funny,” Lance sticks his tongue out. Shiro, who’s feeling a bit more confident under the influence, reaches out to stop the seat from spinning, stepping between Lance’s broad thighs.

“How long have you had this problem?” He teases, palms resting on his sensitive legs. Lance jumps, inhaling timidly as his voice gets lower, “Do I have to arrest you for multiple offenses?”

“Hey,  _ hey _ . We made a deal, mister. I don’t rat you out, and you don’t rat me out.”

“I’m  _ kidding _ .”

“You suck at jokes,” Lance purses his lips as he scans the room for Pidge and Keith. When he finds them minding their own business at one of the abandoned tables, it then comes to attention that he should  _ probably  _ check the time. Not that he wants to leave this position in the slightest.

“Do you have the time?” He asks. Shiro reaches into his pocket, tugging his phone out of his tight pants. The light glow shines upon his features as he checks.

“It’s about midnight, why?”

“Shit,” he sighs, “my mother is probably wrapping up her event by now. They’re gonna be looking for us.”

“Leaving so soon?”

“Oh don’t worry Mr. Policeman,” he smirks, “your secret will still be safe with me. And even if I did tell, it’s your fault. You put your own job on the line.”

“If we’re being frank, I didn’t think to consider the consequences. Has anyone told you how distracting your eyes are?”

“Okay,” Lance hums quietly, biting down on his plump lower lip, “that’s cheesy—”

“Or that mouth.”

His breath is stolen, snatched from his very being, as the handsome man eases closer. Hungry eyes rake about his body, and Lance visibly shudders. It’s clear what Shiro wants, and the brunette isn’t going to think twice when he gives it to him.

“Perhaps I’m holding out for you, Lance Mcclain.”

“Shut up,” he murmurs, taking a taste of Shiro as he brings their lips together. Nimble fingers dig into the sides of his face, tugging him closer if it’s even possible. Shiro’s hands squeeze his thighs, leaning in closer and pressing himself into Lance’s knees. They draw back, readjusting so Shiro has the control the second time around. The white tufts of his hair tickle Lance’s forehead delicately, but the brush of their lips makes it the least of his problems. Alcohol fused with the distinct scent of Acqua Di Gio seeps into Lance’s very being, compelling him to kiss Shiro longer, let his fingers explore further, his heart plummet deeper. 

They’re conjoined for a moment before the pull away, desperate for fresh air.

“Shit,” Lance gasps, practically sober. He can’t even put the moment, the  _ man _ ,  into words, noticing how the angels sing when Shiro graces him with an endearing smile.

“I could go for another one of those,” he’s still smooth, and Lance is torn between wanting to  _ be  _ him, and the delightful rumble of his ticker.

“Little excited, are we?” Lance scrapes his manicured nails against Shiro’s scalp.

“Can you blame me?”

Lance grins. He’s helplessly intrigued by him, and not ashamed to admit it.

“How about this,” he takes out his phone, handing it to him, “you give me your number, and I promise that I’ll have a lot more in store than a little tipsy kiss.”

“You’re on.”

**Author's Note:**

> come [scream with me](https://sheith-keef.tumblr.com) on tumblr! i hope you enjoyed!


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